Words Have Weight
by Aya Salim
Summary: Tag to 9.13 - The Purge. And so here he stood, staring at the only thing left for him in the world, the only person who cared about him more than anybody ever would, enough to take a bullet for him without a second thought, shoving what little possessions he had in the bag with scary determination. Two Shots!
1. Part 1

**A/N:** I know that it's way too late to post this fiction, but I have this friend - **Alex** \- who talked me into writing this in the first place, so I had nothing to do with it :P The fiction is an already written **two shots** , if you guys like this one, I'll post the second and last part right away.

Just to be clear on something, I know after the ending of Season9 and the whole Season10, Sam completely redeemed himself for what was said between him and Dean in _**The Purge**_ , and we wouldn't have had it any other way, 'cause after all, it's SamnDean. So this story doesn't intend any harm to any character whatsoever. Consider this an old file needed posting and fulfilling personal needs. I hope whoever reads this, like it. Cheers!

 **Spoiler:** Up to 9.13 - The Purge.

 **Warning:** Boatload of angst, unbeata'd and language.

Now, onto the story ;)

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 **Words Have Weight  
**

 **Part 1**

 _ **"I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you have to give them up." – Lauren Oliver**_

 _I can't trust you._

 _You wanna work? Let's work. You wanna be brothers .._

 _No, Dean. I wouldn't_

 _Same circumstances. I wouldn't._

The words were said with such certainty that he felt them rip right through him like a blunt knife, tearing at the left pieces of his heart agonizingly slow, with one intent in mind: killing him.

The ache in his chest that he was trying to keep in check ever since the night Kevin was killed right in front of his eyes was spreading through his entire self with a maddening speed, washing over him in a wave after another of grief and pain and betrayal, choking him, crippling him.

He had no idea how long he stood there; staring at the spot his brother occupied before his sickening departure, while the words ricocheted against the kitchen walls endlessly, managing to leave their marks on his wounded soul every single time. He never felt the glass of Whiskey slip from his hand or heard the sound of it crashing against the tile as it hit the floor. All he could see was Sam's back as he turned and walked away. _Away from him._ And all he could hear was those two words.

The two words that easily managed to trash Dean's whole life, destroyed everything he had ever tried to build, and broke him down in every way possible.

 _Iwouldn'tIwouldn'tIwouldn'tIwouldn'tIwoudn't._

With an odd feeling of detachment, Dean finally broke his statue-like pose and saw more than felt his right hand come up and press hard at his chest where pain blossomed with vengeance, and took a couple of wavering steps to the side so he could brace his suddenly shaking body against the counter.

Closing his eyes, he tried to take a deep breath to control the raging fire inside him but it seemed to be only increasing. He was partly aware of his harsh breathing and the slow spin of the room on the other side of his firmly shut eyelids but he couldn't do anything about it. He could no longer do _anything_.

His world was falling apart around the seams, just like his insides felt, and he wasn't strong enough to keep himself from scattering into million little pieces this time. His knees buckled and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

That was it. The moment he has been dreading his whole life.

The moment when everybody, including Sam— _especially Sam—_ left him behind. Left him to die.

He knew this day would come. Deep down, he had always known Sam would finally get too tired of him and walk away from him, just like Dad, just like he always said he would, just like Dean tried to hang onto his family all his life and onto hope that Sam would come back to him after each time he left.

But he had never thought it would be this hard, this _vicious_. And he certainly had never thought _Sam_ , of all people, would actually see him this way.

A life time of protection, of taking care and watching over his little brother, of orders, " _most important: watch out for Sammy,"_ and promises, _"you're my brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you,"_ crashed over him. His whole life has been a fucking lie. A lie he had created and stupidity believed.

 _You fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is; they don't need you. Not like you need them._

Leaving—leaving him behind—has been always his family's lifestyle. But it wasn't his family's fault—wasn't Sam's fault, was it? He finally realized. He was the one who couldn't read between the lines—or didn't want to. He was the one so blinded by his love for his family... for Sam, to actually believe that he would choose to stay while his actions screamed exactly the opposite throughout the years.

Stanford. _Check_.

Choosing a demon over him. _Check_.

Letting him rotten in Purgatory without even bothering to check whether he was dead or alive. _Check_.

Not wanting to be brothers. _Double fucking check._

And now this? This was his prize for wanting his brother to be safe—for _needing_ him to be safe? Hell, his whole life was revolved around one thing: protecting his little brother. He was hardwired this way for God's sake. Sam has been always his responsibility, and he has been always the better part of him. He was the one who could see light at the end of the tunnel; he was the one capable of living the normal life he thrived for. It was never Dean. It was never going to be and they both knew it.

Couldn't Sam just stop for a second to actually see that, without him, Dean had nothing left to fight for? To _live_ for? How could anyone—let alone Sam—ask him to just let his fucking _brother_ die? Dean had no idea. And why it was so hard for Sam to understand, he has no fucking clue and probably would never.

But, if that was the case, if Sam didn't really give a rat's ass whether he lived or died—if he would rather let Dean die and not save him then, really, what in the hell was he going to stay around for? He'd rather die than be a liability to his brother, be the random guy who lived with him under the same roof but without any real connection whatsoever. Just another hunter, whom Sam had to work alongside, but couldn't actually trust or give a damn about.

 _No._

No way in hell was he going to stay long enough to become any of those. Dean snorted at the thought, which actually came out more like a barely choked sob. Because, seriously, he had never counted himself as a delusional guy, but thinking that he wasn't already one of these guys to Sam was way too hopeful, even for him.

Deep down, he had known there was no going back this time, that he had become a stranger to his brother, ever since the day he had confessed everything at that depressing dock, after he had had to torture Sam in order to set him free from the angel's possessive grip.

And after everything that had been said and done, he still chose to stay—he still chose _Sam_ , and if that wasn't pathetic, he didn't know what was.

But those days were over now; he was done taking a blow after a blow and trying his damnest to absorb them, ineffectively, within the folds of his tired soul.

He was done being weak and pathetic and the guy next door; he was done pretending that he was okay with him and Sam "not being brothers" and keeping it "strictly business". He was done imposing himself upon Sam's life every minute of every damn day.

 _I'll give you that much; you're certainly willing to do the sacrifice, as long as you're not the one being hurt._

Screw Sam and whatever he thought of him. He was just done!

A surge of anger rose inside him, washed over the pain, and gave him enough strength to push himself up off the floor and get to his feet. Anger was good, anger he knew how to deal with. It gave him the false rush of adrenaline that pain tried to deny him with all its might. It made him take the hallway to his room in long strides instead of setting at the corner of the kitchen feeling sorry for himself and waited for grief to swallow him whole. It made him wipe roughly at his cheeks, effectively banishing the show of weakness pain had allowed a few minutes ago.

Sam made a choice. And so did he.

He was leaving.

And this time, it was for good.

….

Upon reaching Dean's room, Sam stood at the doorway and stared in shock at his brother as he took the weapons off of their makeshift hangers on the wall one by one and tucked them inside the duffel bag setting above his bed.

Sam was a smart guy, he knew what he had said to Dean, and he knew exactly what his brother had heard, too. And he would be lying if he said that he didn't expect Dean to take some sort of action in the face of his words. He expected Dean to brood over it for a couple of days until he either respected Sam's wishes—which was pretty unlikely, knowing his stubborn brother—or finally exploding in his face, which would make things even worse.

But what he didn't see coming, though, was Dean actually _leaving_.

That's the thing about Dean. Dean _never_ left him, not if he could do anything about it anyway. Dean was the one who always stayed; he was the one who always chose family above everything. Who chose _Sam_ above _everything_. Which is why they were here in the first place. Sam reminded himself.

Dean was Sam's constant; the solid rock he always counted on and knew would be there to lean against, to hold him up, no matter how many times he foolishly tried to break it. And that's why he was standing on the threshold of his brother's room, holding his breath and watching Dean silently, who was aware of his presence, but didn't bother to glance his way.

He regretted the words the instant they had slipped out of his mouth, not because he didn't mean them, because he did. If the situation were reversed and Dean was the one suffering, if he was the one who couldn't go on anymore—didn't want to—who couldn't even wake up on his own unless he was tricked somehow to let an angel in, to unknowingly allow another existence to invade his own body and mind and soul just to stay alive, just to cause more damage than good, just to have to watch himself kill someone he cared about and protected, then hell yes he was going to let him go.

Hadn't he been so pissed at Dean for intentionally misunderstanding what Sam was trying to tell him when he told him that he wanted to keep things strictly business between them if Dean wanted them to work together, he would have took the words back in a heartbeat.

The part of him that knew how Dean would hear his words was overshadowed by his rage, but it wasn't long before it came back kicking and screaming at the little brother in him for the stupid mistake he had just made.

He had went straightforward to the sink once her had reached his room, and thrust his head under the thin stream of water in a failed attempt to silence the screaming in his head. Flashes of unbelievable power radiated out of his own hand, his mind, every cell of his body and the angel's essence, aimed at the fragile body of Kevin, squeezing the light out of him and burning his soul out, seared the dark walls of his eyelids and each time he could feel the pile rising in his throat.

Every time he tried to sleep he saw the same scene, mercilessly taking out an innocent life over and over again.

Sam breathed through the momentary panic that always accompanied the flashes and kept his head under the stream of water until he didn't feel like throwing up again.

Finally, he raised his head from under the tap, didn't bother to dry his hair and let the cool drops of water slide along his neck and creep inside his shirt, getting thinner and thinner as they traveled the length of his back and reached the waistband of his jeans.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Sam lied down on his bed; he was tired and sore and all he wanted was for unconsciousness to blissfully take over him. Fifteen minutes later, though, he was still wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

He couldn't stop playing the conversation he had with Dean over and over in his mind. He saw the look on his brother's face every time he closed his eyes, knowing that it was going to haunt him forever.

The sudden sound of something crashing silenced the war of dominance guilt and self-righteousness were fighting to win inside him. Sam sat up in his bed, listening, trying to detect any other sound that came from the kitchen where he knew his brother must still be but there nothing else came but an eerie silence that for some reason Sam's guts reacted to.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed to the floor and stood quickly, hesitated for a minute before he opened the door and walked towards the kitchen. He didn't find anything except the bottle of scotch Dean had just started drinking after who knew how many others when Sam had walked in the kitchen to say goodnight, the broken remnants of what used to be a glass on the floor, and the ghost of his brother sitting at the table, shoulders hunched forward in defeat.

Swallowing the uneasy feeling that started to dance in the bit of his stomach, Sam took a minute to brace himself and headed to his brother's room.

And so here he was, staring at the only thing left for him in the world, the only person who cared about him more than anybody ever would, enough to take a bullet for him without a second thought, shoving what little possessions he had in the bag with scary determination.

And it suddenly hit him that he had finally pushed Dean to his limits, that he had made the stupidest mistake in the book, had used the deadliest blade against his own bother; his worst fear, shoved it to the hilt in the center of Dean's weakness spot and twisted the handle mercilessly.

 _You didn't save me for_ me, _you did it for_ you.

 _You didn't want to be alone, and that's what it all boils down to._

 _You can't stand the thought of being alone._

He was finally able to convince Dean that he didn't need _him_ , not that he didn't need saving if that meant sacrificing others.

He was able to convince Dean that he didn't _care_ about him. Or whether he lived or died.

When the realization finally sank home, Sam found it hard to push the words past his numb lips.

….

"Dean,"

Nothing.

"Dean,"

Still nothing.

"Dean!" Sam yelled desperately and this time Dean turned to look at him with empty eyes that managed to send shivers down Sam's spine.

"What?" He answered, too calm for Sam's liking, and the youngest brother found himself staring dumbly at his older one, at loss of words.

"What are you doing?" Sam said finally, gesturing towards the half packed bag on the bed.

Dean glanced at his bed nonchalantly before he looked back at Sam. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You're leaving?" Sam managed to get out, his chest tightening the more the conversation kept going.

"Could you at least hold back your excitement 'till I actually get out of here?" Dean turned his attention back to his mission, shoving the shotgun he was holding inside the bag. "Gee. Thanks. That's really nice of you." He said before Sam could even utter a word, fighting tooth and nail to play it cool and keep the mask from slipping.

Anger flickered inside Sam's chest at his brother attitude and his plan to talk some sense into his brother's head flied out of the window.

"Cut the crap Dean!" He took a step towards his brother. "I never said I want you _out of here_."

"I know." Dean said calmly yet again, not willing to give Sam the chance to get a rise out of him. "You just want me out of your life." He smiled openly as he practically could see fumes of anger bursting out Sam's ears.

Logic took a backseat in Sam's brain and before he knew it, he found himself shouting, irritated by Dean's demeanor. "Don't put words into my mouth, Dean, dammit! If you wanna leave, by all means, go ahead. I'm not gonna stop you. But don't act like I'm the one who kicked you outta here!"

"Riiiight, 'cause I'm the one who doesn't want to be _brothers_ anymore." Dean returned bitterly, trying to stay nonchalant, like he didn't care whether Sam left or stayed, but he was losing by every passing second.

Sam took another step forward, completely giving in to anger and fisted his left hand in Dean's shirt. To his surprise, Dean flinched away from his touch like he had been electrocuted, and Sam felt the anger drain out of his system at the look of fear in his brother's eyes.

Dean was afraid of _him?_!

Dean barely felt the nightstand hit the back of his knees as he moved backward, away from Sam's touch. Away from the touch that could bring him the only comfort he ever knew, yet so much pain he was afraid he would fly into million pieces if he let it stay there.

He felt the mask starting to slip, his walls starting to crumble, heard Sam's harsh breath… or maybe it was his own, as he closed his eyes and tried to swallow his emotions down.

"Don't." Dean finally said, breaking the silence. "Just … don't," He opened his eyes and saw Sam take his outstretched arm back to his side while staring at him with a defeated expression, mixed with fear and something else Dean, in his current state of mind, couldn't put his hand on, and tried not to let it affect his decision.

Sam caught the broken look in Dean's eyes before he looked away once again, opened and closed his mouth a few times before he clicked his jaw shut against the unspoken words.

Numbly, Dean carried on packing again, this time walking past Sam to his drawer to get his clothes. Their shoulder almost touched in the way but Dean didn't allow it, couldn't allow it.

It was devastating to say the least, having Sam watching him pack his crap, feeling his brother's gaze burning holes in the back of his head. It occurred to him that they didn't stay in the same room for that long since Kevin died. Whenever someone stepped in, the other always managed to find an excuse to leave the room. Sam couldn't stand his presence anymore, blind people could tell. And Dean couldn't stand the look he saw in Sam's eyes whenever he looked at him.

So he didn't really understand why Sam was still there, why he didn't just give him the finger and stormed out of the room and headed back to his or the library to celebrate or whatever. After all, Dean was granting him his wish. Maybe he just wanted to witness it coming true. Dean thought bitterly.

He didn't realize he had actually made a sound until he felt Sam moving closer to him, but not too close, and calling his name, for some unknown reason, desperately.

"Dean, come on, man." Sam heard the desperation in his tone, aware of how he must sound like the four year old version of himself, but after hearing the unconscious, muffled sob that just came out of Dean he didn't care. Focusing on the task in hand, Dean just shook his head, dismissing any other attempts for another useless conversation.

Resigned, Sam found that he could do nothing but let his eyes follow Dean's movement as he moved around the room and picked up his belongings, slowly emptying the place of any trace that he had ever lived here. The situation was so overwhelming that Sam couldn't speak even if he wanted to. It was achingly similar to the night over a decade ago when Sam was leaving his family to go to Stanford and had to collect what little clothes he had, tossing his books on top of them inside his back bag, packing side by side with his brother who added Sam's shaving kit and favorite knife to the luggage with gentle, strangely composed hands. Just like they were fitting Dean's kit into the bag right now.

The two gentle hands that had carried and supported him ever since he was six months old. The two hands that cleaned and fed him and braced him as he took his first step, as he rode a bike for the first in his life. The hands that taught him how to tie his shoes and hold a pen between his little fingers, how to drag it across the paper to draw meaningless shapes and words. That walked him through his first homework and the first shooting-range session. That shoved him out of danger's way, that pulled him away from the edge of insanity, that wrapped around him in safety, that tightened around him and smothered his fear, that tended to his wounds with pure gentleness and affection, the held him up almost his whole life.

The two hands that cupped his face and squeezed his neck reassuringly when fear threatened to paralyze him the night his own father told him: if you leave, stay gone.

 _"It's okay Sammy," Dean had said then, pulling a wad of money out of his jacket pocket and placed it in Sam's shaking hand. "You're doing the right thing. Dad and I will be okay. And no matter what, he loves you, Sammy. He loves you and he's so proud of you, he just doesn't know how to show it." Sam nodded silently, looking up at his big brother's loving eyes with tearful ones of his own._

 _"I_ am _proud of you, Sammy." Dean's hands slid to his shoulders and gave him an affectionate pat on the chest. "You'll be okay."_

"You'll be okay, Sam." Dean's gruff voice, hardened by years of war and weariness, snapped him out of his short trip down memory lane. He raised his eyes from where he was staring at his brother's hands and realized that Dean was done packing his two bags, which he held in his hands, and was now staring back at him.

When Dean was done, he didn't have the guts to look at his brother at first, but Sam's complete silence and the way he held himself was more than he could handle right now. He didn't think it would play this way. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't think they would ever trade positions like this; that he would ever be the one packing his bags while his brother stood watching.

When he finally dared to look at Sam, his guts clenched at the look he saw in his brother's eyes, seemingly lost many years away. He didn't try to ask what Sam was seeing. He didn't want to know. All he wanted was to do them both good and just leave before his resolve crumbled. But the big brother in him couldn't just go without reassuring Sam that he would be okay without him.

"You'll be okay, Sam." He said softly and headed to the room's door on shaking knees, walked past Sam and had to resist the urge to lean just a tiny bit to the side to feel his shoulder brush against his little brother's.

 _Oh, little brother …_ Dean closed his eyes at the emotions that started drowning him bit by bit.

When he was just out the door, Sam turned suddenly to face him, his mouth opened to say something but the words looked like they were trapped inside of him.

 _This was it._ Dean swallowed hard, turned to leave but stopped at the last second and tuned his head towards Sam again, but didn't look him in the eye.

He had to let him know before he left. He had to let Sam know that he would always be his little brother, that Dean would always care for him, try to protect him, even if he was not around. That no matter what, Dean loved him more than anything he had ever known.

"Sam," Dean cleared his throat before he was able to go on. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I tried to save you against your will, but you have to understand that I did it because I don't have it in me to just let you die. And I'm sorry it hurt you, but I would do it again. That's how I operate, always have, always will. Maybe I'm a selfish, son of a bitch for trying to keep you in this life when you don't want to, and I'm sorry I got us here, but, I guess that changes now and you can finally do your thing."

Sam listened to his brother's speech wanting to yell at him to stop, to just STOP! This wasn't what he wanted; this was _never_ what he wanted. He was the one who should be apologizing; he was the one who turned a blind eye to his brother's love and gave Dean the cold shoulder just to prove a point.

 _Screw this!_ He couldn't live without his brother, he couldn't!

"Take care of yourself, _brother_." Dean smiled sadly at him and that was it for Sam.

 _No, Dean! Wait._ He wanted to run towards his brother, to grab him, to shake him. He was afraid if he waited one more second Dean would vanish in the thin air before Sam could even reach him. _No, this isn't what I want. This isn't what I meant. I swear, Dean._

When his brother's smile faded as he turned and walked down the hallway, Sam finally realized that didn't say the words out loud. And now Dean was leaving, and Sam's heart was beating so hard and so fast he was sure it was going to burst inside his chest.

….

 **TBC.**

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Hope you liked it. And remember, reviews are love ;)

Have a great day.

Aya S.


	2. Part 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your great response to the fiction, your reviews really mean the world to me and I'm gonna reply to each one asap. You guys are the best. And because I didn't have the heart to disappoint you I decided to change the ending that's why it took me couple of days to post this when I said I'd post the chapter right away. So, I hope you enjoy the second and last part of the fiction :)

 **Warning:** T for language and unbeata'd.

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 **Part 2**

 _And I've got nothing to say  
I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face  
I was confused  
Looking everywhere only to find  
That it's not the way I had imagined it all in my mind_

 _..._

Dean took the stairs two at a time, feeling not only the weight of his bags trying to drag him down, but also the gravity of the situation. Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn't stay in this place any second longer. So he blanked his mind, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other until he was standing next to his car inside the ancient garage.

Knowing full well that no one would be coming after him—no one would try to take him back—Dean allowed himself a moment of weakness and sagged against the driver's seat door and tried to take deep, slow breaths.

Adrenaline seeped out of him, ripping off the mask of false bravado along with it since he was finally alone, without anyone watching his every move, and he found that it was getting harder to draw air into his emotionally-swollen lungs. A thick lump of unwelcome tears blocked his airway and his whole body started shaking much like it did a while ago back in the confines of the damned kitchen.

Digging his keys out of the jacket was proven to be an almost impossible task with his terribly shaking hands but he finally managed to do it. He just wanted to get inside of the safety of the Impala and lay his head against the leather seat until he could get his bearings back again.

Trying in vain to insert the key into the lock, Dean leaned more heavily against the door of the car, the only thing that never left him, the only thing that still supported and carried him through it all, accepted him without a second thought and provided him with warmth and a safe shelter his whole life.

 _You think you're my savior, my brother, the hero._

 _You swoop in and even when you mess up you think what you're doing is worth it, 'cause you convinced yourself that you do more good than bad._

 _But you're not._

Dean closed his eyes, trying to shut out his brother's face, his words. Hadn't he needed both his hand to brace himself against the impala to keep from falling he would have covered his ears with them to muffle Sam's words as it taunted him.

 _I'm poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed … or worse._

He knew, God he knew he was a fucking bad news, he knew he ruined everything and everyone that dared to get close to him, he knew he broke everything he touched, starting with Sam.

He knew he was the one responsible for all the crap Sam has been going through since the night Dean decided to drag him back to the hunting life to search for their Dad almost nine years ago. Knew that whatever mess they were in now, it was his own making, and that _he_ drove them both to this and apart from each other.

He just wanted to believe …

He wanted to believe so bad that he was useful to someone, that he was doing more good than bad. Instead he was drowning; the only thing he could do for the past several years was making a mistake after another, somehow managing to break his own record each time. He didn't really blame Sam for wanting to run away from him, for not wanting him as a brother anymore. It was due time anyway.

He was startled when a heavy hand suddenly dropped over his shoulder and almost lost his balance when he turned around to face whoever—or whatever—sneaked up on him while he was too busy feeling sorry for himself.

 _Get a fucking grip, Dean._ He berated himself and when his blurry vision cleared enough he could see that it was Sam, who was looking back at him with a mask of concern and worry that made Dean sick to his stomach.

What the hell did Sam want from him, now?!

"What do you want?" Dean growled his thought out loud, angry at himself for not feeling Sam walk in on him, not knowing what Sam had witnessed, how long he had been standing there and watching him. And what was with Sam and watching, anyway?

Taking a step back and away from his brother's reach, Dean repeated himself when he didn't get an answer.

"What do you want, Sam?"

Sam, who had followed Dean to the garage after he snapped out of the haze the situation forced upon him and has been standing for the last five minutes in there, watching his big brother literally breaking in front of him, took a step forward, hating the way Dean backed away from him until his back hit the solid support of the car.

"Dean, are we seriously doing this?" Sam finally spoke and hurried to continue when Dean's eyes hardened and he was about to protest. "Can we just … I dunno, go back inside and talk about this, please?"

With a bitter smile, Dean started shaking his head before Sam was even finished. "Oh, I think we've done all the talking we're ever gonna need. So, don't take this personally, but I think I'm gonna have to pass."

"Dean, I don't want you to leave. This isn't what I want; this isn't what I was trying to make you understand." Sam tried, feeling more desperate by the second. "You know I didn't mean it the way you heard it."

"Oh, _I_ know?" Dean snickered. "How the hell should I know anything anymore, Sam, huh? You tell me you don't want to be brothers; you say you're cool with me _dying_ and, what? If you think for one second that I'd just stick around to be your fucking whipping boy, then you oughta go screw yourself."

But it was for show, all the anger, all the resentment he tried to push into his words, it was all for show. Because no matter how hard he tried, he could never resent Sam or leave his side unless he was hundred percent sure that he was the reason his brother hurt. And Sam was right, he was right all along. But Dean was still trying to convince himself that leaving was the right thing to do and it hurt.

It hurt like Hell.

And it left him bitter and angry at his own weakness.

"Are you kidding me? Dean, you're my fucking brother, man. Of course I'm not _cool_ with you dying." Sam felt his chest tremble as he let loose of another shout of denial of his own. The more they kept going, the more certain he wasn't going to be able to stop Dean from leaving. And what made it even worse was that he knew for a fact if he let Dean go now, he might not be able to get him back ever again.

And that terrified the shit out of him.

"Wow, you really blow hot and cold, you know that?! What are you, Sam? Four?" Dean's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You don't want me to leave, but you really don't want me around, either. Make your own fucking mind, man." Dean said tiredly, the fight already draining out of him. He was sick of being used like a frigging puppet and being tossed away when he wasn't needed anymore. He just wanted it all to be over.

A nagging voice in the back of his head told him that he should just leave, that this—whatever Sam was trying to do now, wasn't worth it. Wasn't going to change a damn thing. That this way, it would be better for both of them and each could go on their own chosen way; he could be free of Sam's nagging and disappointment as much as Sam would be free of his whole existence. He could throw himself into the open arms of the night, slash and hack at every creature that dared to step in his way. To embrace the darkness and blend in it.

Dean shook his head at the foreign thoughts the teased his mind, and immediately regretted doing so as the world spun crazily around him and he could no longer tell up from down. After a long moment of dizziness, he was finally aware that his right arm was burning and the keys he was still fisting fell to the ground as he shook his hand in defense against the sudden fire.

He thought he was losing his mind when he looked at the source of the pain and didn't see fire engulfing his forearm but a soft, red glow under his shirt sleeve instead. And then he remembered.

He remembered Cain and The Mark that he blindly decided to bear in the sake of fighting evil and killing Abaddon, in the sake of doing something _good_ again, feeling _useful_ again.

He had almost forgotten how his blood felt like it was set on fire when Cain gave him the mark. It burned every now and then but he tried to pretend that it was just a symbol; drawn on his arm with a bloody paint instead of the burnt flesh and clotted blood it was.

"Ahh!" The burn intensified and Dean clutched his arm to his chest, doubling over and trying to catch his breath. He was vaguely aware of Sam calling his name in panic and his own groans of pain but the only thing he could do was try to breathe, which wasn't working all that well, either.

He felt his knees hit the ground, hard, and it seemed like all the sleepless nights and the whole "very little food and too much alcohol" thing decided to finally bite him in the ass and join the world-of-hurt party, designed especially for Dean Winchester.

Not feeling the support of the impala behind his back anymore, Dean, in his very fragile mental state, knew that there was nothing left to catch him if he fell and thought that maybe this was for the best. If he could just die here and now it would be better for everyone, for him … and for Sam. He felt himself tipping forward as the edge of the welcomed unconsciousness advanced at him, and with his support system ripped out from under him, he had nowhere to go but down.

….

 _So what am I?  
What do I have but negativity?  
'Cause I can't justify the way, everyone is looking at me  
Nothing to lose  
Nothing to gain, hollow and alone  
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own_

….

Sam's heartbeat quickened at his brother's unexpected cry of pain but it was when Dean's knees suddenly buckled that his heart sank to the floor along with his brother and then everything was happening too fast.

"Dean!" He found himself at Dean's side before even realizing moving and crouched to his knees beside him, barely managing to catch the older man's falling body before he could break his nose against the unforgiving surface of the cement floor.

Sam flinched at the heat he felt radiating from Dean's body when he grabbed him by the shoulders to lay him flat on the ground. His brother's face was pale like a white sheet and sweat matted his hair to his forehead and gathered on his upper lip, his body was slake in Sam's arm, not resisting Sam's maneuvering or refusing his help. And if Sam wasn't already panicking, he definitely was now.

Amid his haste to rouse his still unresponsive brother, Sam took Dean's wrist between his long fingers, trying to find a heartbeat, when the red lines peaking from under Dean's jacket sleeve stopped him.

Surprised, and not a little pissed off at Dean for hiding an injury from him, Sam pulled the jacket sleeve up not too gently to check for the wound that was now seeping blood, and regretted his action immediately when Dean cried out again at the rough manhandling but didn't wake up.

"Shit, sorry, sorry." Sam whispered sympathetically, realizing that lately he didn't bother to check on Dean to see if he was injured or needed help with stitches after the hunts, was too angry and filled with hurt to focus his energy on anything else—including Dean.

So he shouldn't have really been all that surprised that Dean wouldn't bother to announce the state of his own wellbeing when Sam was giving him the impression that he didn't care in the first place. Hell, he even pretended not to see the glaring telling of Dean's dejection for almost the whole past month. He pretended not to see the bloodshot eyes the spoke of countless sleepless nights, or notice the early morning drinking—the _all the time_ drinking _._ He couldn't even remember the last time he saw Dean actually eating at all, and he was fairly certain that the half donut that he saw him eating the other day and the small bowl of pudding that knocked Dean out were the only things he had gotten into his system in days, maybe weeks.

He was trying not to let guilt win and focus on helping his brother, but when Dean's jacket sleeve was out of the way and he found himself face to face with the glaring mark of Cain that he had only saw once when his brother told him about it a couple of weeks ago—which wasn't glowing bright red, nor Dean's veins were, back then—guilt threatened to knock him out right there and then.

He had completely forgotten about this thing, Dean only mentioned it a few times and each time he filed the reminder to do his research for later. But later never really came. He was distracted being too pissed off to actually remember.

 _God, Dean! I'm so sorry._ He thought miserably, closing his eyes against the pile that threatened to choke him only for a second, before he turned his attention back to the limp body that lay in his arms.

Taking advantage for Dean's temporary lack of resistance—and feeling like an asshole for it—Sam took a moment to inspect the symbol that he realized was practically carved into his brother's flesh and was surprised to find it too hot to touch.

Sam almost jumped out of his skin when Dean's left hand clamped around his forearm all of a sudden in a death grip that was only shy away from breaking bones and his eyes were wide open, yet glassy, seemingly only half conscious.

"Stop!" Dean breathed, and even though pain laced his tone and etched his features, he still managed to sound threatening. " _Stop_!"

Momentarily frozen by the older man's reaction, Sam loosened his fingers from around his forearm and waited until Dean did the same so he could take his arm back. Dean didn't seem to be completely aware yet, though, and if anything, his fingers seemed to only tighten even more around Sam's skin like it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Guhh!" Dean groaned through clenched teeth, unconsciously pressing his forehead hard into Sam's shoulder as tears of exertion leaked out from his squeezed shut eyes.

At loss of what to do, Sam forgot about his due-sever-bruising arm, which Dean still clutched for dear life, and wrapped his other arm securely around his brother's shaking body, trying to help Dean ride out the unexplainable pain spell the only way he knew.

And the fact that Dean went with it and practically _leaned_ into Sam while he didn't even bear the thought of Sam touching him a while ago was enough proof that he was still pretty out of it, and it almost broke Sam's heart.

 _God_ , he had missed his brother so much he didn't even realize it until he had to actually hold him to ease the pain. And it was his fault. He was the one who intentionally drove him away.

He thought that he could do it on his own, that he didn't need the care and the pure love Dean always offered without asking for anything in return. But this right here and now; having to hold his brother who was holding back just as tightly, having to keep him as close as possible, made him grasp the fact that he needed his _brother_ , needed the safety net that was _Dean_ , as much as Dean needed him.

Hell, he maybe even needed it _more_ than Dean. What was there left for Dean to have except an ungrateful and ignorant little brother, anyway? Sam closed his eyes against the tears the thought brought up, fearing that after Dean woke up he would shove Sam away from him and try to escape the place as fast as possible. And Sam wouldn't really have the heart to blame him.

As if on cue, he felt Dean's body stop shaking and finally relax in his arm before it stiffened once again, indicating that Dean apparently became aware of where he was and who was holding him.

….

Dean was grateful that the merciless fire finally started to abate, returning to the dull burn he constantly felt in his arm and he, thankfully, could bear without having to scream his lungs out. His muscles relaxed and he felt himself sinking almost contently against the solid frame that seemed to be the only thing keeping him from falling. Though, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by the fact that he was still alive and not blissfully gone.

At the dark thought, everything came rushing back to him, shocking his already overtaxed system, and he finally recognized the solid frame as his brother and his body involuntarily tensed.

 _What the hell happened?_

He started shoving weakly at Sam's chest, noticing only then the tight grip he had around Sam's arm. Again, what the hell happened?

Sam felt Dean starting to push at him, push him away, and irrationally tightened his arms around him instead. He wasn't ready to let Dean go yet. God, he wasn't ready. He would _never_ be ready.

Dean felt Sam's arm tighten around him and couldn't help the flash of panic at the humiliation of the situation that flickered inside his chest. He _was_ pathetic, _dammit!_

He raised his head from where it was resting against his brother's shoulder and was barely able to look Sam in the eye.

"Sam, let go of me." He said slowly, a muscle jumping along his jaw line, not understanding what exactly Sam was trying to do, but not caring to know as much as he cared about trying to gain a part of his long-since-lost dignity back. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

Sam just shook his head silently causing a lone tear to slip out of the corner of his eye and slide along his flushed cheek.

He wanted to ask Sam what had happened, wanted to punch him in the face for the shit he was pulling on him and beg him to stop crying. He wanted to know what they were doing sitting on the cold floor in the middle of the garage and yell at Sam to let him go and tell him why he was holding him like he was going to escape. But nothing came out, because he _was_ going to escape. He was trying to. And wasn't that what Sam wanted in the first place?

Abruptly, Dean could feel the whiskey he had been consuming earlier burning its way back up in his throat like acid and somehow he found the strength to forcefully push Sam away from him before he could cover them both with his puke.

Sam thrust out his hands and pressed it flat against the ground and managed to save himself from the nosedive Dean's surprisingly strong push almost caused, and stared at him as he scrambled to his hands and knees and started throwing up violently.

Scrunching his nose in disgust and sympathy for his brother, Sam waited until Dean was done puking what could be a week-worth of alcohol before he dared to move closer to him.

Wiping the back of his shaking hand across his mouth, Dean caught a movement out of the corner of his eyes and struggled up drunkenly to rubber feet and almost fell back down hadn't he thrown his weight in the right angle towards the support of the car.

Sam was already on his feet and moving towards him, his hand reaching out as to support his wavering body but Dean stopped him before he got too close.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Dean thundered at him, surprising them both by the venom dripping from his words. But he quickly regained his composure, glared at Sam and stood his ground.

He was sick of this and someone had to put a frigging stop to it.

Using Sam's momentary shock, Dean bent down to grab his keys, almost passed out at the spot but he made it through by sheer force of will. _Do not fucking tempt a desperate man._ He thought angrily.

He pulled his jacket sleeve down, which he knew must have been Sam's doing, remembering the white, hot pain that literally brought him to his knees, and thought briefly that he needed to figure out how to deal with the not-glowing-anymore thing on his arm as soon as possible. He succeeded to unlock the door this time and thanked the universe for small favors as he quickly got inside the car and shut the door with a loud creak. But his victory was short-lived as a second later Sam had the passenger's seat door open and was already getting inside, too, effectively snatching the keys from Dean's hand before he was able to insert them into the ignition.

"What the fuck, Sam?!" Dean bellowed out, his patience was leaking pretty fast at this point.

"If you're leaving, then I'm coming with you." Sam said as a matter of fact and turned in his seat to be able to directly look at him.

Taking a deep breath to calm his fraying nerves, Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He was really tired to Sam's shit. "Sam, I swear to God, if you don't get out of the car and give me back my keys right the hell now, I'm gonna fucking dick ya!" He said slowly, meaning every word.

When he was met with silence, Dean glanced at Sam who was wearing his I-am-gonna-stay-here-forever-until-you-hear-me-out-if-I-have-to expression.

"Fine!" Dean huffed, starting to open his door, fully intending to round the car, pull Sam out and beat the shit out of him if he had to.

Reading his brother's intention, Sam reached out instinctively and grabbed a fistful of Dean's jacked to stop him from getting out, his hold only tightening when Dean gave him a long, dark look, daring him to keep his hand on him. And Sam, fully aware of his brother's threat and desire to fight, willingly chose to keep his hold and glared back at him. _Make me._

He considered it a victory when Dean sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging a little bit, apparently too tired to fight at this point despite his warning.

"Say what you got." He bit out, exhaustion seeping into his tone. "And make it quick."

Seizing the opportunity Dean finally granted him, Sam had to remind himself to actually speak up this time if he wanted to keep his brother by his side.

"Dean, look, I'm really sorry for what I said back inside." Sam began and his heart clenched a little bit at the bitter smile that crept its way along Dean's lips, who was staring at the windshield in front of him, obviously unwilling to look at Sam. "You know this isn't what I meant. And I'm sorry I didn't make myself clearer when I said it. I should have known how you'd hear it, but… for a moment there; I didn't care—c _ouldn't_ care."

Dean didn't say anything, didn't even move a muscle, and Sam's heart was already bounding so hard he could actually taste the fear and regret that coated the back of his mouth.

"I just, I was… _so_ angry. Like Hell." Sam went on. "Kevin was dead and… I can't _not_ see it every freaking time I look at my own hands, man!"

But Dean was already interrupting him, "I told you, Kevin's on me!"

"It is on both of us, Dean." He said sadly, finding that grief was finally taking over anger. "It's on both of us and with the whole Gadreel thing, I needed time to process; I needed time to understand what was happening and what I have done to be able to deal with it. And you were the only one around for me to lash out at, man."

Sam didn't know if Dean was still listening or not, but either ways, it was maybe his only chance to try to fix it—to fix _them_ —and he might as well use it for all its worth.

"I know that you might not believe me at this point—after everything that happened—but, Dean … I'm _never_ going to be okay with you dying. I'm _never_ going to just stay there and just… watch!" Sam kept going sincerely, not wanting to hope too much when he noticed the hesitate glance Dean threw his way out of the corner of his eyes. "Dean, you put everyone first and you don't even care if you don't make it out alive. You'd kill yourself before you lift a finger to defend yourself against someone you love when you are being used as their frigging punching bag—including me. If the situation were reversed, you wouldn't have been able to live with yourself. You'd be the one stopping me from saving you if it meant that someone else could get hurt. You'd rather die for the greater good instead of denying someone else's right to live. Hell, you sold your fucking _soul_ so I could live and spent the whole fucking year, the _only_ year you had left, blowing every goddamn chance that could save you because you knew it'd mean that I'd have to die then." Sam reminded him accusingly, finding it a little hard to breathe through the dark, detailed memories of Dean's trip to Hell.

It was only when Dean finally looked at him, really looked at him, that Sam felt like he could draw air into his lunges again.

"All those years, Dean, you did that. You always favored others lives over yours. You were so pissed and hurt whenever someone died so they could save you. Dad, Cas, Bobby, Ellen, Jo. Me." Dean's eyes saddened, the memories and Sam's words probably weighting on him as much as they were on Sam.

And he was surprised to find that it was easier for the words to come out while looking at Dean's eyes where a lifetime of sacrifice and suffering lived.

"You practically raised me, man." Sam choked out, overwhelmed by their history, by the grieve he saw in Dean's eyes, by how far they have gone. "You taught me everything I know; you protected me your whole life, were more of a father to me more than Dad ever was—"

"Sam—" Dean protested, _finally_ getting into the conversation.

"No, Dean. Whether you like it or not; it's the truth. You may not want to accept it, but it is how it's always been like." Sam sniffed. "And finally, _finally_ , after all the crap I put you through practically your whole life, how many times I let you down, I had the chance to do something good. To make the world a better place, a _safer_ one, where _you_ could finally have something other than pain and blood, to have the family you've always wanted—"

"Sam, _you_ are my family!" Dean turned in his seat, facing his brother completely and Sam could sob with relief.

 _God, Dean._

"And I was blind enough to push away the only family I've got. I'm still pissed and hurt, I might still need time to get over everything but that doesn't mean that you're not my brother. That I wouldn't do anything for you like you would for me." Sam said one more time, wanting to make sure that his brother got him this time, that he knew what he actually meant for him. "So, please, Dean. Don't do this. We can fix it, we always do." He finished and the only thing he could do was wait for Dean's answer.

He didn't know what else he could say. He was so tired and emotionally drained and all he wanted was to hold Dean and never let go.

Dean for his part, to say he was speechless would be the understatement of the year. And right then, he could only see his six year old brother who used to beg him for help to fix something he had broken before Dad came back home. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of the memories and looked away, trying to decide what was the right thing to do.

For a second, he wished his dad were there to tell him what to do, to tell him what the best way he could protect Sam was: leaving or staying. He wished he could hear Bobby calling him an" idjit" one more time, telling him how family wasn't supposed to make him feel good but feel miserable while smacking him lightly on the back of his head.

Dragging a rough hand over his tired face, Dean heaved a sigh. He knew what he had to do; he had always known what he had to do. He had to watch out for his brother, no matter what happened. But before he made his decision, he had to open up to Sam, too. After his brother's long and honest speech, he owed him that much.

Taking a deep breath, Dean looked back at Sam who was holding himself very still much like he did while he stood watching Dean packing God knows how long ago.

"Look, Sam. I really appreciate everything you said, but you have to know that it isn't really your fault." Dean started, looking at Sam hesitantly.

"I'm a screw up, man." Dean smiled sadly, shrugging lightly when Sam started shaking his head at him. "I am. And I told you before and I'm telling you again; I'm a frigging poison, and with this thing on my arm, too?" He added, pointing at the mark hidden under his sleeve. "Who knows what the hell's gonna happen next. I don't wanna drag you down this road with me again. So, I'm telling you; it's okay if you don't want me around anymore. I get it. I do. And I wouldn't really blame you."

"Dean, didn't you just hear what I said?" Sam interrupted him, fully aware of where his brother's speech was heading to. "And I don't care about the mark, that's even more reason to stick together _and_ we're gonna figure that one out, too. I _need_ you, Dean. I need my brother."

Dean just looked at him for a long moment as if trying to detect the truth in Sam's eyes and Sam made sure he showed nothing but love and determination.

"You really mean that?" Dean finally asked.

"Yes." Sam didn't miss a beat, putting all his confidence in this one word which knew was the clincher to everything.

"Okay," Dean whispered, swallowing the overwhelming emotions and Sam felt the tears that he had been holding for a long time now finally spilling free.

"Aw, Sammy. C'mon!" No matter how old they got, Dean's heart would always clinch at the sight of his little brother crying. He was shocked when his words seemed to only manage to make Sam cry harder.

 _Sammy._

He hadn't realized how much he had missed hearing that coming out of Dean's mouth until now. And it occurred to him that Dean hadn't called him by the nickname in a while now. And if possible, it made him cry even harder.

With his big brother's instinct taking over, Dean dropped a gentle hand on Sam's neck and squeezed a little bit, hoping it wasn't too early for Sam to accept this type of interaction. He put everything he couldn't say into that touch, trying to make sure that Sam understood that he would be always there for him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay." Sam said through tears. Grateful for the hand Dean wrapped around his neck. He was never going to get over how his brother was able to change tactics and letting the big brother in him take over as if flipping a switch when Sam was concerned, even when Dean was practically having a breakdown all night.

"It's just… it's been a long time since you called me that."

Dean frowned in confusion. "Called you what?" And after a moment, his face relaxed in realization. "Oh,"

Sam gave a tiny shrug, felt his brother withdraw his hand only to pat him on the chest.

"Sammy, you gotta stop doing this." Dean said seriously and Sam actually looked back at him frighteningly. _What have he done?_ "This is by far the biggest chick flick of all time, I'm afraid we're gonna have to check you for new grown boobs."

Sam laughed, actually laughed, and used his sleeve to wipe his face. "Shut up."

They stayed for a long moment inside the safety of the Impala—their _real_ home no matter wherever they stayed—as a semi comfort kept their company, both feeling safe and content for having each other back for the time being.

It was Sam who finally spoke up. "So."

Dean looked back at him. "So?"

"This place stinks, dude." Sam scrunched up his nose for effect, referring to Dean's puke that had been there for a good while. "What do you say we go back inside?"

A flash of green crossed Dean's feature at the reminder of the smell and for a second he looked like he was going to throw up again but after a couple of swallows he uttered a husky, "Yeah. Let's get outta here."

Sam's hand reached to the door's handle in time with his brother. "But you're gonna hafta clean that up first." He stopped to say before opening his door.

"And you woulda thought we'd never actually find a way to put that mop on your head to good use." Dean smirked, not missing a beat, and Sam felt relief was over him for finally seeing a glimpse of his brother's long-since-lost spirit back again.

"You're such a jerk." He smiled as he got out of the car.

"Bitch."

Dean smiled back at him and it was all the reassurance Sam needed that they were going to be okay. They might still have a long road to pave and bridges to build ahead of them, but they were going to figure it out.

Just like they always did.

 **\- The End -**

* * *

Song: _Somewhere I belong_ by _Linkin Park_.

* * *

aaand, that's it :) Too cliché? I hope it wasn't too sappy for you and you guys liked it and I'm really looking forward to hear your thoughts. :)

 **Alex,** as I mentioned, this chapter - specially the ending - is dedicated to you, honey! *hearts*

Have a great day and see you in another fiction.

Aya S.


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